3 AM
by speedfanatic05
Summary: In the stillness of the early morning hours, Roy ponders his place in this world. Now Rated T
1. Chapter 1

3 AM

Genre: Angst

Rating: K+

Summary: In the stillness of the early morning hours, Roy ponders his place in this world.

Disclaimer: I **do not** own Fullmetal Alchemist. That awesomeness belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

 _Ishbal, 0300 hours_

Shadows danced across the planes of the desert, the large moon illuminating the sky from above. It was a chilly night, yet the inner fire that smoldered from deep within tempered Roy's discomfort. It was only physical however; the second his eyes, heavy with exhaustion, drifted close, nightmarish images greeted him properly, jarring him awake. After long bouts of insomnia, he'd become used to the game of roulette; however, the snores of his comrades continued their endless taunt, leaving him at the mercy of the stars and eerie silence.

Sleeplessness suited him though. Despite the obvious draw backs, Roy would've taken long nights over the constant loop of the depravity of war replayed in the darkness of his mind. Bad enough he had to live and breathe it under the merciless rays of the brutal sun, the constant reminder of his role in this forsaken place lay square on his shoulders. In the stillness of the night, he gained respite from the voices that cried out in despair, the flames, quelled by the gentle breeze, merely simmering underneath.

Flames.

He'd been an eager apprentice, devouring all of the knowledge he could get his grubby pre adolescent hands on. Knowledge was the only thing, aside from his foster mother, Roy respected. Knowledge was profound power and it was going to take all of that and then some to effect the changes he'd only dreamed about. As a young boy, he'd seen his fair share; spending time in a brothel in the city reaped a bountiful boon of experience, enough to know that a seismic shift in morale was needed. Crime seemed to flourish. The voices of the citizens were drowned out by the rhythmic march of the military as its presence eventually toppled Parliament. Corruption and deceit were tangible commodities while freedom suffered from the silence that fear had perpetuated.

Roy couldn't allow it to continue.

Even after Master Hawkeye turned away from him, even as the fit of his military uniform threatened to strangle his very spirit, he couldn't allow his country to fall into the abyss of destruction.

He had a dream.

 _Had_ a dream.

Roy stared into the flames, musing over the missed opportunities. With his thirst for knowledge, his determination, he could've ascended the upper echelons of society with little effort but it wouldn't have given him the power to make his dreams a reality.

Nobles and intellectuals were ostentatious fodder at best.

He needed more than a title and the military offered the perfect trajectory. Sure, he'd become nothing more than an obedient dog as a State Alchemist but the ends, in his mind, justified the means.

That was until Ishbal.

Roy cast his weary gaze across the flat planes of the desert just beyond the camp, the lines of demarcation drawn by the shadows of the ruins. The shadows of the ruins bled into the desolate, unforgiving desert, completing the ruination of a nation. With nothing more than the gentle whisper of the wind, the haunting echoes of war rose to a fever pitch across the harsh sands. Endless campaigns against humans, regardless of their origin, had left its mark on him but he was resolute in his determination. It was the price he'd have to pay to achieve his goal.

A small tuft of air escaped his lips as he shook his head. The lives of a nation bartered for his aspirations.

Equivalent exchange indeed.

"You'll be no good to anyone without rest, Major."

Roy stood quickly, his arm raised with his middle finger and thumb poised to snap but relented at the sight of the white uniform. He relaxed a measure as he exhaled heavily, averting his eyes briefly. He wasn't up for chatting but the weariness in his subordinate's eyes indicated that chit chat wasn't warranted.

"No need to worry about me, Corporal." Roy lifted his eyes to the young man and nodded toward the center of the camp, "Worry more about your comrades. We have an important mission tomorrow."

"My point exactly, Sir. We'll need our ace in the hole at top form." Despite the Corporal's weary countenance there was a certain amount of pride in his voice, pride that Roy thought to be misplaced. The lack of awareness disturbed Roy: instead of youthful innocence, the dark pools reflected lost humanity where remorse and compunction were unfounded.

War, much like transmutation, required payment that was often much more than what one received.

The gleam in the Corporal's eyes was enough to cause Roy to turn away, barely containing his displeasure. In the quest for change, suffering was inevitable but to extract merriment from painting their own hands with the blood of the innocent was far more than he'd bargained for. Yet, he remained, a loyal steadfast dog of the military, executing orders and people with the simple snap of his fingers.

"Like I said, Corporal, I'll be just fine." Roy's voice brokered no argument and the young corporal responded in kind, giving his superior a sharp salute before turning on his heels and returning to his pallet.

Roy sat down slowly and looked out, disgust roiling throughout his entire body. His sense of justice and morality decayed with every second spent on the front lines but it was a necessary evil. To make good on his promise to those who stood behind his covert push for change, he had to play the dutiful role. Roy was every bit of the monster the Ishbalans had called him and weighted with the blood of countless victims on his hands he consigned the mistakes of today to the hope of the future.

Dawn would arrive soon, heralding another day of mindless annihilation.

Another day Roy knew his actions would shift the winds of change.

Another day Roy knew his nightmares would reside in reality, forever etched on his soul.

That is if he had one when it was all said and done.

 **A/N:** This is my first attempt at writing Fullmetal Alchemist. All errors are entirely mine. I welcome any _**constructive**_ criticism, especially since this is my first foray into the world of FMA. Interest will determine whether I continue with this.

Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!


	2. Reminder

_As a matter of self-preservation, a mean needs good friends or ardent enemies, for the former instruct and the latter take him to task._

 **-** _Diogenes_

 **Chapter Two- Reminder**

 _Central,1910_

 _0315 hours_

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

Roy ignored the familiar voice as he placed the glass to his lips and tipped his head back, enjoying the dull burn of the alcohol as it traveled down his throat. He'd been at the bar for hours, nursing drink after drink in the hopes of keeping the memories at bay. It was a change from the loneliness of his apartment. Tonight, he'd felt the need to be around people and the dark corners and anonymous faces of Madame Christmas's place was as good of a location as any. The faces reminded him that he wasn't alone. Alone wasn't good for him. Alone, he'd realized he wasn't as strong as his haughtiness had foolishly led him to believe.

Seconds had stood between him and oblivion.

The gun had felt heavy in his hand, the determination paramount, but the fear had outweighed it all.

Only _his_ intervention had been his salvation.

Roy grimaced. That fear, although years separated, still influenced his every move. He didn't want to find himself in that same predicament; following, not leading. Destroying, not building. The blood on his hands, although invisible, wasn't completely gone. It remained a catalyst, a reminder that despite the obstacles he faced, he had a specific goal in mind.

Roy lifted his hand for another, "No, I do not think I've had enough."

"Mustang, it's nearly three-thirty in the morning. Don't you have work tomorrow?" The concern in the bartender's voice threw Roy momentarily but it was to be expected. Tony worked for his foster mother and as such, he knew all there was to know about the young Flame Alchemist. Although expected, he could've done without the distress.

"Last time I checked, Tony, I functioned very well as a grown man," Roy responded slickly. His words, although not sloppy ,were loose and judging by how heavy his limbs felt, his equilibrium was definitely off kilter. Briefly, he wondered how he was going to get home in this condition but he didn't worry .

He wasn't worried about anything at the moment.

"How about we cut it off, Roy." Roy chuckled under his breath and shook his head at the _suggestion_ and finally lifted his sights to the woman standing behind the bar. Madame Christmas' voice brokered no argument but the softness of her dark eyes indicated that she was concerned.

"Let's compromise, s-shall we?" Ah, there it is. The slight slur was beginning. The alcohol had done its job. Bravo. "One more drink and I pay off my tab."

The softness in Chris' eyes disappeared as she leaned closer, "You're paying off the tab without the juice, Roy. It's time to go home."

Roy waved away the directive and laughed, "If not here then somewhere. I'm sh-sure that there are plenty more bars where this one came from." To emphasize the point, Roy moved to stand, his body toppling sloppily onto the bar. After a moment, he gained his bearings and tried again, this time, bracing himself with his hands.

"You're going to wish for death in the morning. And that's before Riza finds out about this little bender."

There was a hint of mirth in the older woman's voice that Roy decided he didn't like. So what, he'd had a few drinks. He was a grown man, a lieutenant colonel in the Amestrian Army. The goddamned Hero of Ishbal.

He chuckled darkly at that last one. It was Ishbal that got him into this mess in the first place.

That thought got him moving and to the surprise of everyone, including himself, he stood up fully and turned to face the door. He was determined to leave of his own merit and find a more willing establishment to continue to drown his sorrows. As he stumbled, he laughed out loud, turning his head to look back at Chris and Tony.

"No need to worry about me. I'm the great Flame Alchemist!" He pointed in the direction of the door. Sadly, it was the bathroom door but at this rate, Roy didn't give two thoughts about it. " The great Flame Alchemist will be taking his leave now."

He felt their eyes on his back as he weaved his way in the general direction of the exit, bumping into some of the tables haphazardly. He should've been ashamed and if he weren't drunk off his ass, he'd probably would've been. As it turned out however, he just didn't give a shit.

At Mustang's declaration Tony turned to Chris and asked, "You want the girls to prepare a room for him?"

"No."

It was a well known fact that as charismatic as Roy was, he had his fair share of enemies- enemies that were hell bent in deterring his forward trajectory. On his best day, he narrowly avoided the repercussions of his growing popularity. Caught displaying conduct unbecoming of an officer would be just the ammunition needed to sound the death knell to his dreams.

Which is why Chris dialed the number and waited, all the while watching as Roy stumbled through the bar, muttering apologies to empty chairs.

"Hello?"

"This is Madame Christmas. If you value the life of your friend, you'll come and get his drunk ass out of my establishment."

Roy huffed at Chris' directive, shouting, "I heard that!"

Pause. Exhale. Resignation.

"It's for your own good, Roy," Chris lamented as she looked up in time to see Roy tangling with the coat rack before passing out on the floor.

The great Flame Alchemist indeed.

-3 AM-

"Fancy meeting you here," Roy purred lazily as he placed his hand on the shoulder of his escort. He frowned as he inhaled, noting that the air was less pungent and cooler than it had been only seconds -or hours- it was hard to tell at the time. Still the same they continued at their lackadaisical pace, with Roy slipping his arm around her waist. Curiously, the body was solid, stood a good foot above him, lacking any warmth or lushness. And instead of the expected bouquet of flowers he'd normally associate with a woman, he caught a whiff of an overtly masculine scent, causing him to pause slightly.

The cooler breeze cleared his head minutely but not enough to where he'd become fully lucid. One thing he could ascertain was that the streets of Central were deserted and as he lifted his head toward the sky, the bright moon's position told him it was very early- or late, depending on one's perspective. The only sound was the soft shuffle of footfalls against the concrete, giving the air a sense of peace. It was eerie considering how he'd spent his night. Self medicating in preparation for the future. Even though he'd returned from Ishbal a broken man, he knew how to maintain. Suffer in silence. Deal with the regrets internally. It was his only plan on how to move forward.

Which, of course was a load of bullshit.

The self persecution was an endless abyss of darkness, darkness he could only handle if properly numbed. He'd taken to alcohol fairly easy and on his darkest of nights, he sealed himself away in his apartment and battled with the shadows of the past, a bottle of whiskey as his only respite. His flame alchemy, his greatest weapon, was useless, and yet his arrogance wouldn't allow him to cast it away completely. All of the struggles, the cries of despair, the blood...All of it remained a footnote to his ambition.

 _Hero._

Right.

Pulling himself out of the shadows of his mind, he frowned, "You know, you smell funny to be a woman."

They started off again, his gait unbalanced. He listed to the right, his shoulder skimming the roughened patches of a stone, snagging the material of his uniform. A firm grip and pulled him away. Roy shrugged: So his escort was the strong type. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"Clever, lover boy. Nothing says attraction more than the scent of a liquor still."

 _Wait a minute._

Although extremely inebriated, Roy recognized the voice almost immediately and just as quickly fumbled to distance himself from the man. Colliding with the stoned walls of an adjacent building, Roy ran his hand over his face and shook his head, attempting to clear away the alcohol induced fog. He lifted his eyes to meet the piercing green, almost diabolical gaze of one Maes Hughes. Catching the snicker that escaped Hughes' lips, Roy closed his eyes. Of all the people he _didn't_ want to see him like this, Maes ranked right up there with Riza Hawkeye.

On second thought, Hawkeye would've been preferable.

Roy slumped against the stone facade and exhaled harshly, " I know I'm going to regret this later, but what are you doing here, Maes?"

A soft chuckle filled the air between them as his best friend answered, "I told you, I'll back you a hundred percent, Roy. If this means saving you from making an complete ass of yourself, so be it." Maes hoisted Roy up again, straightening him out more as they started walking, "So, Lieutenant Colonel ,do you have any idea what time it is?"

The facetious tone wasn't lost on Roy and he grinned as he turned his head toward Maes, breathing heavily, "If I was interrupting anything between you and Gracia, good. I shouldn't be the only one suffering tonight."

"Cheeky bastard." Maes shoved Roy's cheek, diverting the putrid fumes of the alcohol, "Unlike you, Roy, us regular folks were fast asleep."

They ambled along in contented silence, the words unspoken giving full meaning to the present situation. Roy could feel Maes' gaze on him, his concern condemning him anew. He was a jerk of the highest degree, drowning himself in alcohol, refusing to face the future with renewed strength, while Maes remained steadfast. In the wake of that revelation, Roy's drunken temerity decreased exponentially. If anything, he should've been lauding the guy; after all of the destruction and soul searing depictions of human depravity that Maes had endured, he'd come home, fully prepared to keep living. He'd stayed true to the declaration of being the type of man whom Gracia could trust, love. War, although life altering, wouldn't change Maes Hughes.

It's why Roy felt as if he were the weakest between the two. Sure, he'd played political hardball and made rank quickly but Maes' aspirations were just as arrogant as his was. Maes operated in the background, only believing in Roy, believing in the intense fire that simmered just beneath the surface that brought about change. Maes believed that Roy could deliver on his word, not just offer up empty promises.

And here he was, proving his best friend wrong on so many levels.

Anger pulsated through Roy as he struggled to free himself from Maes' grip, his ire lending more to his increased lucidity than a cup of coffee ever would. He stopped moving and cast his gaze downward, the shame that should've been present hours ago, now making an appearance.

"I- I'm sorry, Maes." The words, although sincere, tasted like dirt in his mouth. The more he thought of his pitiful appearance in front of Maes, the more he felt the need to throttle something. If he'd had his ignition gloves, the land would've been alive with his vengeful flames. Here he stood, in front of the strongest man he'd had the honor of knowing, drunk and wallowing in self-pity, knowing his actions, his decisions had placed him exactly where he wanted to be.

It was pathetic.

Maes exhaled lightly and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it affectionately, "We're all human, Roy. We make mistakes, we learn from them. We get stronger." Maes paused briefly, meeting Roy's gaze head on, " We lean on those we care for and love."

Roy clenched his fists tightly, "I feel like our roles should be reversed. You're the strongest of us, Maes. You're focused, you're trustworthy..."

"...And I'm a liability," Maes interrupted. Maes averted his eyes briefly before looking back up at his most trusted friend, "My goal isn't to change this world, Roy. My goal is to be the best man I can be for my Gracia. I trust you to take up the mantle and make Amestris whole again."

"That's a lot of ill placed trust, Major Hughes."

Maes huffed, " That is the alcohol talking, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang."

Roy stared at his best friend and felt his lips turn up in a smile. The truth was in Maes' gaze. The trust was humbling, shattering the arrogant hubris he'd so desperately grasped in the wake of Ishbal. If Maes' silent strength was his greatest support, there was truly nothing that could stop him.

That revelation cleared the last vestiges of self-pity and he felt more like himself again, "It still burns that I made rank faster than you doesn't it?"

"Clever choice of words, Flame Alchemist." Maes slipped his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked forward, "I'm taking my time." He took a step and glanced back, "With all that you're about to get into, it's not going to take me long to pass you up on my way to Brigadier General."

Roy took a tentative step and flanked Maes, chuckling, "Brigadier General, huh? Lofty ambitions for the head of Investigations."

"Have to be lofty," Maes offered as he cast his eyes sideways, "considering I'm going to be a father."

"Oh, here we go," Roy grumbled affectionately. He knew what was coming next...

"She's going to be the cutest baby ever, Roy! Just look at my lovely Gracia. How could my little girl not be as beautiful as her mother..."

"Funny, you know the baby's going to be a little girl." Roy shook his head slightly, "I'm glad I have you and your divining powers on my side."

"There's no reason for us not to have a beautiful little girl, Roy. Just think about it, Gracia, our little girl, and you with your family..."

Roy frowned and started to walk off. When Maes went off on his ludicrous tangents about marriage and family, Roy turned a deaf ear. He appreciated that his best friend had good intentions but his focus, his motivation was looking forward to the birth of a new nation.

He could only thank his best friend for that reminder.

 **A/N: I realized I forgot to mention a few things in the beginning: One, this is a series of one shots. Two, depending on the subject matter ( which will most likely be angst) the rating will go up. Three, I'll take from both FMA and FMA: Brotherhood ( as well as the OVAs involved) as they inspire me. Oh, and there will be at least two more chapters. Feel free to leave your thoughts!**

 **-Speed**


	3. Chapter Three- Linger

**Chapter Three- Linger**

 _Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage_

 _-Lao Tzu_

East City, 1914

 _0300 hours_

The stillness was deceiving; the gentle breeze that flowed through the partially opened window, whispered against the elegant sheers, the echoes of the nocturnal animals providing what should've been a sweet lullaby. From his perch, he could observe the streets of East City and revel in the serene quietness that preceded the bustling city's waking hours. It was amazing how different the city was during the early hours of the day. Summers in the East weren't as bad as in Central. Still the same, they could be unbearable for others at but posed no problem to him. It was the reason why he'd pulled the window up only an inch or two from the sill, allowing the slight flow of air into the bedroom. His companion would no doubt, be very thankful. The heat of the day had segued into a comfortable evening, the hint of crispness on the wings of that breeze heralding a change in both the air and Amestris. As he was wont to do when he couldn't sleep, he sat on the window sill, gazing out into the inky darkness, for once, contemplating the future.

Change was coming, had been coming for a long time.

And now it was a steam engine on a collision course toward the heart of the country.

Not that he was especially attuned to nature, despite his certain abilities. It was in the atmosphere, in the language of the people, in their eyes. The soft rumblings of revolution barely escaped the lips of the Amestrian people; they were desperate, longing for a life without the threat of retribution for the simple freedoms not held within the state for decades. Yet, the fear was rampant; calming the irate and the disparity in one glare. The people had known nothing but the harsh reminders of the military and judging by Führer Bradley's war machine, the notion of change would've been a foreign idea at best.

Roy knew better, however. Amestris was ripe for the picking. Trouble was he wasn't sure that the right people were tending to the harvest. His instinct to exploit this change had instigated an investigative trip to Resembool four years ago, had prompted him to endorse an eleven year old prodigy for State Alchemist status, and entrusted that young man and his iron-clad brother with several strategic and very dangerous missions while they were on one of their own. As the two youngsters from Resembool cut a swath through their country, conspiracies, plots and political machinations were evolving at a quick pace.

On the surface it all seemed a mere power play by the power players but it was deeper than that. This sense of dread resounded in his soul and threatened to surface, weighing heavily on his consciousness, nearly howling for action. In Ishbal, he'd vowed to ascend the echelons of power to protect the ones he loved, but now, more so than ever, did he _feel_ the need to act. The darkness that was quickly descending on his country like a starved beast, the rising conspiracy it's sharpened teeth. He'd felt it the moment he'd set foot in Central for missions, he'd felt it every time he entered Central Command, every time he held court with King Bradley. The tenuous relationship between the Chief Military Executive and his lowly Colonel were stilted at best; Roy knew if Bradley desired, he could easily dispose of The Flame Alchemist- or use him against his will. As it were, Roy felt as if he were hanging by the ever shortening strings of the marionette, a puppet to be used at Bradley's whim. For all intents and purposes, he was, as were all of the State Alchemists. They functioned as Bradley's personal weapon against foes and friends alike. A deadly reminder of who really held the power.

Roy clinched his fist tightly as his brow narrowed, the anger of past regrets haunting the deep recesses of his mind. He'd made a decision back in Central four years ago that he would no longer dwell on the ghosts of the past. If he were to make a defining change, to grasp the reins of power, he'd have to keep his eye on the future.

The thought of Bradley's condescending smile stoked an ever burning cinder deep within Roy's heart, quickening its already frantic beating. The man was pure evil hiding in plain sight. Roy knew it while others were cautiously observing. Roy only hoped that while they lingered on the precipice of knowledge, they weren't setting themselves up for a devastating fall.

"Mind telling me why you're not in bed?"

A soft voice followed by the gentle touch of her hands slipping down his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck pulled Roy out of the dark chasm of misgivings. He placed his hand on her forearm, stroking it lightly with his fingertips and smiled, his leveled voice betraying the fury that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Would you believe that I'm getting a head start on a new day?" Her grip tightened slightly and Roy grimaced, "No need to use your strong arm tactics with me, _Lieutenant_."

"Then come clean, _Sir_ ," Riza whispered, relaxing her arms a measure.

Roy chuckled mirthlessly, his eyes narrowing as he continued to stare out into the darkness, "Clean… that's a lofty goal, isn't it?"

"Roy," Riza warned. She made to shift in front of him but Roy stopped her. He didn't think he could face her with all that was running through his mind. As it were, every time he gazed into her whiskey brown eyes, he questioned his motives. Riza had made a similar vow, unconditional in its standing. She had positioned herself as his protector, willing to put her life on the line to keep him safe from both internal and external threats. He trusted her to make that snap decision, to pull the trigger at his command or _because_ of his command. And the best he could promise her was his determination to reach the top of the pyramid. The level of trust that existed between them was visceral, all consuming, and truthfully, frightening. He held her ideals, _her_ future in his hands and he had to make good on his word. They were no longer merely superior and subordinate: The Flame Alchemist had ceded his heart to the Hawk's Eye, adding her to that ever growing list of loved ones he'd given his life to protect.

Roy held her arm tighter and closed his eyes, "I can feel the change, Riza. Something's coming and we're not prepared." He paused and opened his eyes slowly, gazing at the invisible horizon, "It may already be here."

Much to Roy's consternation, Riza successfully evaded his attempts to keep her in her place and exhaled heavily as she came to rest in front of him. He caught a brief glimpse of her face in the dim illumination that filtered in from the lamppost stationed right outside of her window, the dark shadows concealing half her face. Although he could see only one of her eyes clearly, her expression segued between concern and resolution. It was as if she could read his dark thoughts and chances were, she could and she was coming to the exact same conclusion.

They were all on an unknown, uncertain trajectory.

Riza lifted her hand to cup his cheek and Roy turned into her palm, the sensation of her thumb gliding across his cheek calming him. The silence stretched between them, the unspoken words of encouragement and love flowing through their gaze. Sometimes, words weren't necessary, especially to those who already knew the heart's desire.

Riza inched closer, straddling his hips, holding his gaze within her own, "I won't lie and say that I'm not scared. I am."

"Riza…"

"Roy," Riza countered softly, "you're so quick to shoulder the burden."

"What is all of that trust if I fail to uphold my part of the bargain?" Roy's ominous question filled the space between them, the doubt in his voice strong. "I've involved everyone I care about in this...mission to save Amestris without truly calculating the costs. I've asked you all to take that risk without giving anything in return. It's not equivalent!"

"We all knew what we signed on for, Roy. None of us came into this blindly. We know the score." Riza's voice was resilient, if not slightly laced with annoyance. "I'm surprised, Colonel, that you think so little of us. That you think we aren't prepared for the sacrifices…"

"It's not that, Hawkeye." Exasperated, Roy averted his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with Riza at three in the morning. He could just imagine the hell he'd have to go through later at the office. As such he was willing to concede his bravado- and maybe his pride- to the encroaching darkness. Exhaling, he moved to stand, "It's late, Riza. We should go to bed."

Riza pressed her body against his, effectively pinning his back against the wall. She placed her index finger against his lips. "Listen, Roy. Just listen." Without further explanation, she brought his head flush against her chest, "This heart trusts you, Roy Mustang. It's encouraged by your strength, your determination…by your love. That's all the equivalency I need."

Roy's eyes slid shut as he listened to her strong heartbeat, his own arms winding around her waist and pulling her closer to him. Her scent washed over him, soothing his worries and igniting a fire in one breath. He listed intently to the gentle throb, content that each pulsating thump was his to have regardless of any notion of equivalency. Her fingers slid through the silky strands of his hair, further lulling away the remaining darkness.

It was here that he was at his strongest, in the warmth of trust and compassion, grit and determination. Ultimately, it was where he wanted to be. His aspirations could wait for tomorrow; resting in the arms of the woman he loved and trusted beyond measure was all he needed to quell the lingering doubts.

 **A/N: I wanted to go for more of a lemon-y type of chapter but the muse wouldn't let me go there, so angst it is. Well, angst with a wee bit of fluff.**

 **Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a thought or two!**


	4. Two Sided Mirror

**Chapter Four- Two Sided Mirror**

 _The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for_

 _-Homer_

 _Central Command, Fall 1914_

 _00300 hours_

 _Unthinkable._

Roy inhaled deeply as he stood in front of the door, his hand poised to take the knob in hand, his eyes closed and cast downward. In that moment, he couldn't move. Ironically, his infamous flames were snuffed out, his body frozen. He wanted to move, he wanted to open the door, to explain away this sudden desire to dissolve into nothingness. He wanted to prove that the idiots manning Investigations had it all wrong. He wanted to walk into an empty room, wanted to smile, laugh heartily at yet another practical joke his men were keen on playing. He wanted to believe that this night was nothing more than a cruel nightmare, one he'd long ago shoved into the deepest crevices of his soul.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted to dial the familiar number, to hear his jovial voice.

In the stillness of the night, he wanted the comfort of knowing that his best friend remained on this side of the mortal coil.

Unfortunately, what he wanted mattered not in the grand scheme of things. Because he knew what he would find once he opened the door, felt the bone shattering emptiness with each frantic, yet hollow step he took to get here. As soon as he had arrived in Central, the urgency to see Hughes had manifested into nervous energy. Of all the calls between him and Maes, none of them had held a sense of false mirth as this one had; even his quick quip about Roy's bachelorhood was void of his usual candor. He'd found something in the course of his investigation that was potentially explosive and Roy had an inkling that it had scaled into the enclaves of the upper echelon. Information like that was dangerous, even more so to someone like Hughes who had everything to lose.

 _If only I could've gotten here sooner_ , Roy thought as he exhaled and opened his eyes. He willed his hand to at least grasp the knob. Anger percolated His brow narrowed as his face hardened, angry that he couldn't just open the damn door. He clenched his teeth and growled lowly at his hesitation; after facing the many horrors of war, hearing the cries of the dying and the damned -cries that he caused- he'd succumbed to his weaknesses in that moment. A lone tear escaped and rolled silently down his cheek as he stared at the knob.

 _Unfathomable._

"Sir…"

The edge in Riza's voice was tangible, the pain evident in his ears. Yet, she remained steadfast, her decorum resolute. Instead of reaching to embrace him, she remained a few feet behind him. It was as if she knew he was unpredictable and wanted to give him as much berth as she could while remaining within the bounds of their understood roles. In that moment, he envied Riza, jealous of her ability to remain nearly apathetic despite the horrors visited upon them both. What he wouldn't give to be able to tap into that sort of numbness, to call on that reservoir of strength as easily as she could.

Riza took a step toward him and he reacted, his hand gripping the knob and turning it almost violently. He half expected to look down and see it clutched firmly within his grasps, instead, he looked up to see Dr. Knox as he stood at the head of the table, his dark eyes centered on the enshrouded body that lain there. At the sight of the cloth, Roy was besieged by a plethora of emotions; anger welled only to be quickly replaced by sorrow, his face segueing from hardened to forlorn as he took a shaky step forward. No one spoke. No one dared.

Although his attention was on the body, Roy could feel Knox's eyes on him. His back stiffened and he lifted his head in an attempt to recover. Even though Roy was in good company at the moment, he could ill afford his momentary lapse of composure. Best to maintain the façade of strength for appearance purposes- at least that is what he told himself as he continued to stare at the white cloth.

 _Maes, what have you gotten yourself into?_ The question replayed itself on a loop in Roy's mind as he stepped forward, surprising himself by even moving. Before he knew it, he was standing over the prone body, his own beginning to quake under the pressure. Despite the reality of it all, it wouldn't be final until he saw for himself that the body of his best friend was before him.

Roy raised his hand to lift the sheet away but hesitated. The rapid tandem of emotions eroded his cracked psyche as rage, despair, and fury all vied for their moment in the spotlight, thrusting him into perfect chaos. His mind was aflame with purpose and desolation simultaneously. He wanted so many things: To find the person responsible and burn them to ash, go to Gracia and offer his support, find a corner and shatter…to turn back the hands of time and prevent this from happening.

Roy closed his eyes and exhaled harshly as he pulled the sheet back with a quick flip of his wrist. There would be no going back. He could only move forward.

At that he was reminded of the sound advice he'd given the Elric brothers.

… _Keep moving whatever it takes, even if the way ahead lies through a river of mud._

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat echoed in the silence and it was only then that Roy noticed Knox. The older man stood across from him, his weary eyes set on the body. It was then that Roy finally looked down and saw Hughes. A multitude of emotion pushed through him and forced him to look away. He nearly broke in half and was tempted to allow his grief to envelope him but remembered where he was. Clearing his throat roughly, he forced himself to look back down; his brow crinkled with the effort it took to push back the pain.

"Where are his glasses?"

Of all things, that was the first question that came to mind .Roy was surprised that his voice was a sturdy as it was, especially since he was staring into the blank face that had once held so much life, so much joy. Roy struggled to keep his thoughts in the present as the memories of the past played in the shadows of his mind all while he tried to analyze what was before him. The purpose held hints of a certain duality; tactically the loss of the consistent flow of information and a trustworthy confidant was a crucial blow to his cause. But this was also personal; it was apparent that someone knew how valuable Maes Hughes was to Roy and murdering him would place Roy in a strategic stronghold. It was a play at control, a taunt, a warning of what would happen if he'd gotten too close for comfort. Roy clenched his fist tighter as the silence continued, hearing Hughes' ghostly voice, vowing to have his back, to be his inside man on his quest to the top. Of the many warnings, one stood out the most: Surround yourself with trustworthy comrades and prepare for what was coming.

"They're with his personal effects," Knox replied, effectively shattering the depressive sadness. Roy heard the connotation of distress interspersed within the succinct delivery and finally locked gazes with him, seeing for himself the strain evident in the older man's eyes. Knox knew of the depravity that the State could wield and his glare was equal parts accusatory and taciturn. "Brigadier General Hughes…"

Roy frowned, "Brigadier General?"

"You would focus on that, Mustang." Knox exhaled lightly and shook his head, continuing, "The brass considered him KIA and as such posthumously awarded him the rank of Brigadier General."

"How absurd," Roy interjected, "but the State always worried about appearances more." Grief had finally succumbed to logic as his thoughts cleared. "I've been to the crime scene and it yielded nothing of importance. Any indication of who could've done this?"

"I wasn't privy to the crime scene but judging by damage done to the body; both the laceration to his right arm and the bullet wound suggests that the perpetrator stood at a point blank range. Whoever it was, they were close."

Roy frowned, "Who could've gotten that close to Hughes and lived to tell about it?"

"I don't know, but they knew what they were doing. After a thorough autopsy, I concluded that the cause of death was exsanguination."

"He bled out. And whoever shot him watched him die," Roy rationalized. The brief respite from emotion was over and an unholy surge of wrath filled every fiber of his being. Someone snatched Hughes away from his wife, his beautiful daughter…away from him.

The pendulum of darkness had swung.

He would have his vengeance.


	5. Ignition

**Chapter Five- Ignition**

 _ **And wrath has left its scar-that fire of Hell has left its frightful scar upon my soul**_

 _ **-William Cullen Bryant**_

 _Central, Winter 1914_

 _03:30_

A brisk, cold wind gusted and forced Roy to pull his overcoat tighter against his body, his teeth chattering slightly as he meandered the silent streets of a slumbering city. He'd spent the previous night- as he had most- walking the streets in an effort to quell his raging thoughts, to think clearly. Hughes' death had seemed to herald a seismic shift in the machinations of the powers that be; civil unrest had begun to siphon the contentious peace and stability of the political machine that controlled Central and outwardly to the countries bordering Amestris. Bloody skirmishes led to full-fledged conflicts that threatened to send the country into war and there was this prevailing sense abandonment as the shadows of deception had deepened within Command itself. Bradley was acting off of his own agenda and had sufficiently silenced Roy by scattering his pawns and procuring his queen. He'd been effectively neutered, his plans, his aspirations now impotent in the face of an uncertain future.

Even with all of the chaos, he found that his focus was exact.

It was vengeance under the guise of justice. Only the end result mattered to Roy.

He could concede that he'd been reckless, made irrational choices. Instead of heeding Maes' warning to remain vigilant against the enemy _within_ , he allowed his emotions to direct his path. He'd focused most of his waking hours delving into the details of Maes' final night alive, seeking the truth, the meaning behind his death. He'd given up any semblance his office, choosing to hunt instead of keeping a watchful eye on the throne.

In the end, it cost him his advantage but it was of no consequence; before he could advance, he had to settle a score, to right a wrong by any means necessary. Of course, that line of thinking had brought down Bradley's wrath on his operation. Though a nuisance, Bradley's passive aggressive show of force and the homunculi's false sense of superiority had become a spot of good fortune for him. The prevailing thought was that if his wings had been clipped and his pawns scuttled, they'd think he'd learned a costly lesson, think that his splintered desires would remain stagnant in the face of true supremacy and thus was essentially controlled.

And he led them to believe that fallacy.

Truth was, they'd given him just enough space to maneuver, assembling a network of messengers and spies right under their noses and ferrying information in plain sight. Incidentally, Roy wasn't sure who or what made up Bradley's cabal in its entirety but he knew that a select few of the military elite favored the side of the prideful victor. This nest of deceit had become the seat of Amestrian might and further complicated an already complex situation. Unseen powers were navigating the country on a collision course with destruction. He'd made a vow on the blood soaked fields of Ishbal that he'd harness the power to protect, to serve his country with a clear heart and mind. Despite the situation at hand, Roy believed they'd stumble and he'd be right there to take them down.

All of that was of no consequence at the moment, however. Tonight, his concentration was honed on his current quarry, an informant who was knee deep in the business of secrets. Anxious for his chance to sink his teeth into a lead, he hurried, his lips forming a cold grimace. The thrill of the hunt incited the smoldering flame of retribution from deep within and he rubbed his fingers together in anticipation, almost as if caressing a delicate rose. The familiar feel of his ignition gloves further stoked his wrath; he expected his questions to be answered. If not, then the informant would pay a hefty price for his reluctance.

He clenched his teeth against the bracing wind as the questions crowded his thinking, provoking him even more. The case had been effectively squandered, leads dried up, witnesses dissolved into shadows. It was clear that someone wanted to slam the door shut on the death of Maes' Hughes and the elevated rank and the KIA designation didn't fulfill the inherent need for closure that Roy coveted. He wanted someone accountable and he wanted them square in his sights. A maniacal grin replaced the grimace as he pressed his thumb and middle finger together, already envisioning the burst of flames as they sought a target.

Rounding the corner, he stopped and pressed his body against the cold brick of the building, his eyes sweeping the desolate streets for any signs of life. He turned to look the way he came, making sure that he wasn't followed. As much as time was a factor, his contacts by way of his aunt added another layer of anonymity which would come in handy when he started his interrogation.

Roy waited a beat before moving again, his heart now thumping in his chest. He couldn't help but think of Maes as he made his way to the warehouse, the memories filling the void left in the wake of his simmering rage. Maes had always been the lookout, watching Roy's back when conflicts arose, sometimes even standing side by side with him, unwilling to back down from a fight. Something as clandestine as this impromptu interrogation would've fed Maes' inquisitive soul and brought out a mischievous side to the deceptively perceived straight guy. And afterwards, they'd seclude themselves away, discussing the caper or mission and ways to improve for their next jaunt. For all their plotting, strategizing, and scheming, it served as nothing more than a solid foundation that their friendship stood ...and two fingers of a decent whiskey.

 _Light on your feet, fast to beat, Mustang…_

Roy froze as the wind gusted, carrying with it a ghostly echo of his best friend's laughter. His heart thumped violently against his chest, his throat dry as a multitude of memories flooded his mind. Even though months had passed, Roy still found it hard to contend with the phantoms of a friendship that at its essence would never die.

He swallowed hard as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to gather his wits. Exhaling slowly, he started across the street at a clipped pace, not stopping until he reached his destination. Plastering himself against the door, he rapped sharply against the thick wood, the sound cracking in the hollow silence.

There was no hesitation, the rusty hinges squeaked loudly in the stillness of the night, the aged wood creaking deeply as it slowly opened to reveal utter darkness. Roy smirked briefly as he stepped into the shadows, all at once feeling comforted by the emptiness that stretched before him. As the door closed behind him, he stared straight ahead, allowing his eyes time to acclimate to the dark. The air was stagnant with age and the repugnant odor of mold and mildew guaranteed that they would not be interrupted. The maniacal frenzy began again and Roy strove to temper his actions. Tonight was a game of inches and it wouldn't do for him to run into this operation half cocked. A slight shuffle off to his left drew his attention and he pulled his gloves tighter.

"Our man..."

"...Is waiting for you. Down the corridor, turn left, take stairs down three flights, then right, then another right. Rey's keepin' him company," the detached voice replied. Roy nodded and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, producing a tiny flame. The dull glow only reached so far into the warehouse but just enough for Roy to make his way to his destination. He didn't bother glancing back at his receiver already knowing that he'd silently melded into the shadows, his job done.

Roy advanced deeper into the warehouse, his footfalls unhurried though his body thrummed with untapped energy. It was the work of the moment to remain as docile as he was; each step, each breath was bringing him closer to his goal and be it peaceful or cruel, he would find satisfaction this night. Maes' spilled blood called for justice but his own blood bellowed for retribution. It was selfish, it was reckless.

But it was necessary.

Deep within the bowels of the warehouse, Roy finally came to an end. The corridor was long with several doors lining both sides, all but one sealed shut. It was from this sole room that a dim light beckoned Roy, it's faint beam timidly spilling out into the devouring darkness. There was a murmur of voices, one smooth, confident, the other unhurried, perhaps even bored.

"So, didja bring me here to stare at me or is there a point to this?" the cocky voice asked.

"Don't worry, you're going to get what you deserve. Try a little bit of patience."

Snuffing out the tiny flame, Roy inhaled deeply and bowed his head, reconciling within himself, his determination to find the answers that had eluded him for so long.

Slowly, he exhaled and then stepped toward the door, pushing it open enough so that he could slip through. In the center of the room, there was a man bound to a simple wooden chair facing the door, his eyes covered. Despite bounded and blind folded, the man seemed to revel in his predicament as if his silver tongue would free him. The audacity of his hubris was furthered by the soft snicker that erupted from the man's lips as he tilted his head slightly.

"Ah, we have another guest. Won't you come in, take a seat, sit a while?"

Roy glared at the man before shifting his attention to his right. Just within the glow of the lone lantern, Rey stood, his gaze fixed at their prey. Roy took in the appearance of his accomplice and couldn't help but smirk; if one were to plan and execute something as crucial as his late night interrogation, Rey was the least likely suspect. He was a man of little words, his stature and his aloof demeanor accentuated his every man personality, making it just that much easier to toe the demarcation of light and dark. What most didn't know, however, was that Rey was notorious for enacting the most depraved of punishments- if instigated.

"What's the story with this guy?" Roy whispered as he leaned closer. He kept his eyes on their man, disgusted by the growing smirk. "Think he has any information?"

Rey nodded, " Name's Elmore Thackery. He likes to believe that he's the head honcho of the underworld and claims to have ties within Central Command, which is why he's currently sporting that smug ass grin." Rey glanced at Roy before returning his gaze to the bound man, "Had a lot to say about the homunculi and the Elrics."

"Did he now?"

"Had even more to say about you."

"I suppose he would," Roy responded haughtily, "I am in great demand these days."

"Cut the shit, Colonel," Rey hissed, " the Madame was very succinct in her orders: you're not to do any of the heavy lifting."

"This is my collar," Roy argued back. He took a step forward and was blocked by Rey's lanky arm. For a moment, Roy contemplated a reprisal but then thought the better of it. It wouldn't serve his purpose to roast one of his co-conspirators. Instead he relented, "Alright, no heavy lifting. You ask the questions and if I don't like the answers, I'll handle it... _my way_."

Rey considered it briefly before conceding, " You sure you don't want me to get with him even a little bit? His demeanor's just plain pissing me off."

"No need. Although," Roy paused as he set his sights on Thackery, pulling his gloves taut, " you might want to step back. This could get a bit toasty."

Ante up indeed.

 **A/N: I took a liberty or two with Roy's alchemy and mindset. Author's prerogative :). Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Acceptance

Chapter Six:

Acceptance

 _You have to accept that you can't change the past experiences, opinions of others at that moment in time or outcomes from their choices or yours.  
― __**Shannon L. Alder**_

 _Central –Spring, 1915_

 _0315_

The first night had been the most difficult; quiet, unnerving, yet acceptable considering the hell he'd been through. Even though the battlefield was had been deserted and the battle won, he could still feel the quaking of the ground underneath his feet, hear the thunderous reports of the artillery around him, sense the currents of alchemy coursing through his body , and taste the acrid stench of the blood of the fallen. His eyes, however, had remained dim, his vision shrouded in darkness. He'd spent his hours after the conflict enshrouded in that mocking darkness, weary as his thoughts consumed him.

So many questions and no answers as he stared ahead, his mind a filling with images of the days and hours before his world had changed, their vibrancy a painful reminder of the price of his haughty aspirations. He clung to those images greedily as if it would bring him some comfort, as if recalling bright red blood on his hands would bring him respite from the ether of nothingness he'd been flung into.

So many unknowns and he didn't have the wherewithal to search for the truth. He was worthless now, his future unseen and uncertain.

Darkness had once been comforting, now it served only to mock him and his quest for power. There was no calm, no peace and the echoes of despair reverberated deep within his soul. His country, the people he cared for were safe, yet he was defeated. The almighty Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist was defeated. He'd made a promise to Hughes that he wouldn't stop until he'd made it to the top, that he'd lead their country away from the death and destruction that had been its constitution for so long.

He couldn't even find his way to the nearest bathroom.

Days later, Roy had finally convinced himself that he was well and done. He'd seen the brief glimpses of a future that now awaited him, his dim useless eyes regulating him to the shadows instead of at the forefront. What was there for a blind and infirmed alchemist? Despite his gallant efforts in defeating Father, Roy understood clearly that his limitations far exceeded his desires. He couldn't risk using his alchemy without someone to gauge and direct him. He was a liability, one he wouldn't force on any one, least of all Riza. Although she'd pledged her loyalty, he'd finally gone where she couldn't follow. He couldn't rely on Hawkeye to be his eyes in the field as he had during the battle; to do so would forever mark her as a target and although she'd had his back in the past, he couldn't ask that of her. The image of her lying inside a transmutation circle as her blood flowed freely was more than enough to convince him that this was the right path. He would never risk her life again.

Maybe he would retire and persuade Riza to come along and finally live the lives they wanted. Perhaps discover that this world, his life was built on more than the bodies of the weak and ruined dreams. He could finally find peace in the stillness that had been forced upon him.

Roy scoffed.

Idleness was never his strong suit. Neither were fairytales.

Sitting on his ass when there was still much to do was the last thing he wanted, yet he'd been given no choice on the matter. He'd begun to accept his fate and realized that there was nothing wrong with moving on. Essentially, he'd given up.

That was until Breda had arrived.

The day before, Breda had offered to bring him up to speed on what was going on in Central while he convalesced, thrusting an open book onto his lap saying, _"You might think you're down and out, Sir, but the Mustang I know wouldn't let this little hiccup get the one up on him."_

Roy had heard the smug tone in his subordinate's voice, practically envisioning that smartass smirk of his. He'd let a small chuckle escape as he turned toward the open window, feeling the soft breeze caress his chilled skin. In that moment, he wanted to laugh at Breda's presumptuous actions but the rotund 2nd Lieutenant had been right. Now wasn't the time for self- pity, it was indeed time for action.

"Keep moving," Roy whispered, "whatever it takes."

The bed next to him creaked and he turned his head toward the sound listening as its occupant rose and made their way toward him. Roy frowned and was about to say something before a light touch met his lips.

"Before you order me back to bed, I want to know why you're still up." Riza's alert tone was evidence enough that he wasn't the only one up pondering the future. As she settled next to him, he smiled a little, relishing the warmth and soft scent that now surrounded him. Aching for her embrace, he turned his body toward her more, lifting his hand to caress her cheek. Instead his fingers grazed the bandages that were wrapped around her neck, binding together that near fatal wound wrought by the gold toothed doctor. She must've noticed his scowl; her deft fingers pulled his hand away gently and she countered, kissing his fingertips reverently, "I'm still here, Roy. I'm still here."

Roy closed his eyes and allowed her touch, grateful that it was still his. Beneath his eyelids, the images clashed together, fresh memories of her blond hair smattered with blood intermingled with visions of her at her happiest. Her smile, the one thing that he cherished, was lost to him, stolen and used as currency to forge a path of darkness. He pulled her closer and breathed her in, gently wrapping his arms around her. For a long moment, he held her tightly; eternally grateful that his sight was the only thing he'd lost on The Promised Day.

"I've made so many mistakes, Riza." His voice cracked under the pressure of that realization and he struggled to maintain his composure. His mistakes had cost him his loved ones, his hubris leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. As his thoughts turned to Hughes, he let her go and turned toward the window, opening his eyes as if he could stare out into the depths of the night.

"I was stupid to think that my reckless actions wouldn't have serious repercussions."

Riza's arms encircled his waist and he could feel her wordless encouragement as she held him through the troubling emotions that were brewing within him. The hatred that coated his voice seemed to echo in the cavernous room, branding itself on his consciousness. As much as he understood that his was not the only folly, he couldn't concede that his was only one in a number of actions that became a catalyst to the end of everything. He bore the grief and pain of those lost like a medal, it's burden a catalyst for change.

Placing his bandaged hands on top of hers, he exhaled heavily, "Even so, this will not stop me. I have too much to work toward, too many debts to repay." As the words left his lips, he turned toward Riza and smiled lightly, "I'm a very selfish, stubborn man, intent on achieving my goals. I promised that I would make it to the top so that I can protect the ones I care for." He snickered softly. "I try not to break my promises."

"So, you've accepted your fate?" Roy could hear the tenuous hope in her soft voice as she tightened her arms around him.

"My fate..." Roy had pondered on the meaning of that particular word often since The Promise Day. To accept his fate would mean that he'd leave his future to chance, accepting that he didn't have the power, the control to change. To essentially abandon his chosen path. "I'm not especially keen on the idea that I'm not in control of my own destiny, Riza. I- _we_ have too much at stake to leave anything to probabilities and happenstance."

"You're going to use the Philosopher's Stone."

Riza lifted her head away from his back and Roy staved any further movement by applying light pressure to her hands. He knew what the Philosopher's Stone was, what it took to make one. The thought of using it for his own gain reeked of the same opportunism that gave rise to the Homunculi endeavors, yet he couldn't convince himself to refuse its power. But, he wouldn't do so without first ensuring that he'd repay a significant debt.

"I'm going to use anything and everything at my disposal, Riza. Now that Bradley's regime has fallen and Father is defeated, Amestris will have to rebuild, heal. We need good people at the helm, people who value life over power." He released her and as she turned toward him, he reached out for her, his fingertips glancing over her hair and down the bridge of her nose before settling on cheek. He tilted his head downward, hoping that she could see his eyes; even devoid of sight, he wanted her to see his determination. "I will not leave you, my country, my life to chance. The past remains but the future...The future is ours to build."

He had the tenacity, the fortitude to strive further. Every thought, every command, every step was his to make.

Idleness was never his strong suit. Neither were fairytales.

But promises, those were the bedrock of his aspirations.


	7. In the Garden of Good and Evil

Chapter Seven

In the Garden of Good and Evil

 _It is only through labor and painful effort, by grim energy and resolute courage that we move on to better things_

-Theodore Roosevelt

 _Central-Fall, 1920_

 _0300_

The cool, crisp air whipped around him as he sat in the dewy grass, his eyes riveted to the stone, its etchings partially illuminated by the waning crescent moon. He'd taken to coming here when memories prompted them, usually choosing to do so in the middle of the night to limit interruptions. The darkness, the eerie silence didn't bother him; he'd long let go of those childish fears of phantoms and ravaged fiends years ago, especially when he faced one in the mirror daily. The scars of the past were firmly etched on his psyche, the horrors of his deeds recorded and stored in his heart. How could he be afraid of things that went bump in the night when he'd been the worst of them all?

A small mirthless chuckled left his lips as he glanced around the cemetery briefly before refocusing on the stone once more, shaking his head in disbelief. Once upon a time, he'd promised that he'd seize power and set in motion the ripples of peace emanating from his staunch desire to protect and secure those under him so that they could in turn protect the people under them. It had been the driving force, the catalyst for all of his plans- that was until the vision dimmed.

Roy leaned forward slightly. Although partially hidden in the shadows, he knew the name, the epitaph by heart. Along with the remains of his best friend, the last of his idyllic dreams rested here, ensconced within the eternal darkness. Losing Maes wasn't merely a strategic loss; his sense of loyalty and fierce resolve had been unparalleled. Maes had been his foundation, his moral compass and he missed their philosophical conversations, the witty banter- even the ever obsession with projecting his love for his family on him. Maes had stood beside him through the tough times, stopped him from making the mistakes that would cost him his dream and his life. He had been committed to see him rise above the deceit and destruction, to protect the ones he loved and cared for. He was his confidant, his guide- the brother he'd never had.

Roy cast his eyes downward, attempting to ward off the despondency he'd worked so hard to banish. He'd exacted the revenge he sought, extracted the price of Hughes' life out of Envy's smoldering body, each flame driven home penance for the tears shed. Still, he felt it hadn't been enough. If not for Edward and Riza's interference, he'd been satisfied with taking Envy's life. Mad with grief and hungry for retribution, he hadn't taken in consideration the consequences of his actions. It hadn't been until he'd faced Riza's steady aim and resolute gaze that he'd understood the ramifications. If he'd acted, she would've done what he'd commissioned her to do and in return, stricken her own life.

He was a bastard but he wasn't selfish- especially when it concerned the love of his life.

"I went about things the wrong way. I nearly got everyone under my command killed, lost my sight, and purpose. I nearly broke my promise." Roy paused and shifted his eyes upward, "I've been a complete idiot, Maes." The soft breeze rustled the brittle leaves of the surrounding trees, its quiet whisper a response. Roy laughed again and relaxed, "Well, you didn't have to agree with me so readily." A whisper of wind ruffled his hair, its gentle touch making him smile wider. Roy exhaled wistfully and began again, "So much has changed in five years, Maes. The Ishbalan restoration efforts are nearing completion; Ishbal belongs to her people now. The state of Amestris is now under a democratic rule and Grumman's term is about up. The campaign season begins soon- I could've used your help on that. My strength lies in strategy, not public relations."

The wind blew a bit harder and Roy nodded, "Yeah, I have my work cut out for me but I know of one person who won't let me slack off." Thinking of Riza, he placed his hand on his chest and closed his eyes. He'd been so close to losing her, to losing his future that he hadn't wasted time in securing it the moment he'd regained his sight. It had been the best, the _smartest_ thing he'd ever done.

"Speaking of slacking off, Ed's been laying low in Resembool, awaiting the birth of his second child. Who would've thought that arrogant kid would do something right? And Alphonse is still in Xing. That young man…He's something special Maes, but then you knew that, didn't you?"

A fierce gust blew against his face as if to say, _Of course I did, silly._

Roy steadied his gaze on the stone, his eyes running over the name and dates and exhaled heavily, almost hesitant to say the words. He'd known long ago that he'd have to move on from this, reconciled his sorrow to the corners of his heart but speaking it into existence…

Instead he evaded. "Uh, Gracia and Elicia are doing fine. Elicia's getting so big and she's got your inquisitive nature. She spent the day at the office with her Uncle Roy today and promptly solved the mystery of the missing pastries. As you can guess, Breda had something to do with that."

An insistent gust blew against his face and he relented. He was stalling and Maes knew it. No matter how much it pained him, he'd chosen to come to the garden of good and evil tonight to release the burden of grief he'd held on to for so many years. He'd gone through the stages of mourning just as he'd traversed the seasons, the journey to resolution irrevocably changing who he'd become. He was forever altered; his arrogance and hubris lay asunder while his temerity and fortitude remained and yet he still had much to learn.

He cleared his throat roughly and wiped at the welling tears, "Even after all these years, your absence still hurts. There…there are times that I can still hear your laughter in my ear, your words of encouragement when everything's going to shit, even your annoyingly persistent prodding to find a wife- although I have that one covered." Roy fingered the simple band on his finger his thoughts going to his wife and daughter at home. A warm smile broke across his lips as he nodded,"You were right, Maes. We do lean on those we care for and love. It makes us stronger."

And that was all he had left to say.

Roy stood swiftly, averting his gaze to the sea of stones before him the serenity of the moment enveloping him. He'd chosen to embrace life, to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. One day, this would be his final resting place but for now, he'd leave a part of his heart as another promise.

"We'll meet again, Maes." Roy stared at the stone for a moment longer before turning to leave.

A brisk wind blew past him and he swore he could hear his soft reply.

 _Until then_ …

He'd done and said enough. Now was the time to move on to better things.

 **End**

 **A/N: And it is done. Thank you to those who read, reviewed, followed and favored- I'm honored that you gave me a chance on my first Fullmetal Alchemist fic.**

 **Until next time!**


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